TWENTY-TWO
FIVE WEEKS LATER
When Clint had left Trickle Creek, it was the afternoon following the tournament and the whole town was still buzzing about all that had gone on during the game. The streets were crowded and spirits were high. Clint’s pockets were padded with a few extra dollars and Eclipse was trotting upon a new set of shoes.
When he returned, things couldn’t have looked more different.
Not only were the streets empty, but the air was stagnant and thick. Some of that could have been explained by the time of day or heat of the season. But those things couldn’t explain the discomfort Clint felt as he rode down the street. A few faces looked out through some nearby windows, but seemed more like shadows passing over solid rock.
The town was more than just quiet.
It felt dead.
There were no banners or stagecoaches lining the streets, but that wasn’t a surprise since there wasn’t a poker tournament going on. The game that had brought Clint back to Trickle Creek was a private affair. Still, he thought he might see more folks out and about doing their normal business.
When he did spot a local who met his eyes, Clint tipped his hat.
That local promptly averted her gaze and turned away.
He couldn’t see any lawmen around, which wasn’t much different than the last time. He’d heard the sheriff’s name mentioned once or twice, but never did lay eyes on the man.
Just a little over a month had passed, but Clint couldn’t help feeling like it had been longer. Every inch of Trickle Creek felt dried up and barren. By the time he got to Pace’s Emporium, Clint would have welcomed the sound of George’s whining voice if only to break up the monotony.
Inside, Pace’s was a bit on the empty side, but otherwise fairly close to how he’d left it. Mr. Pace was seated at a small table in the corner farthest from the door, and Les stood directly beside him. Only a few card tables were in use and one of them was for a game of solitaire. One faro game was being run, but not by Delilah. Since she wasn’t at her table, neither was Carl.
“Well, look who’s back,” the bartender said. “Spend your winnings so soon?”
“No. I thought I’d come back to build them up a bit more, though. Where’s Mack holding his game?”
“Hell if I know. Ask him yourself when he stops by. That’s been closer to eight or nine o’clock. Care for a drink in the meantime?”
“Not yet. When’s Delilah coming in?”
The bartender looked at Clint blankly.
“Delilah,” Clint repeated. “You know. The tall beauty who runs the faro game?”
“Yeah. I know who you’re talking about.”
“Well, where is she?”
After steeling himself a bit, the bartender told him, “She’s gone. We buried her not long after you left.”